It was like a dream—her beauty, her voice, everything. But I could still hear Watson. I was to be tempted, cajoled, flattered. What was this story out of the moonbeams? Certainly she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Why had I asked such a question?
“I shall keep the ring,” I answered.
She sighed. A strange weakness came over me; I was drowsy; I lapsed again into unconsciousness; just as I was fading away I heard her speaking: “I am so sorry!”
XI. — BAFFLED
Was it a dream? The next I knew somebody was dousing water down my neck. It was Hobart Fenton. “Lord,” he was saying, “I thought you were never coming to. What hit us? You are pretty well cut up. That was some fight. This Rhamda, who is he? Can you figure him out? Did you hear that bell? What was it?”
I sat up. “Where is the Nervina?” I asked. “The who?” He was bewildered. “Oh, down at the cafe, I suppose. Thought you had forgotten her. Wasn't her mate enough? It might be healthy to forget his Nervina.”
He was a fine sight; his clothes were in ribbons; his plump figure was breaking out at the seams. He regarded me critically.
“What d'you think of the Blind Spot?” he asked. “Who is the Rhamda? He put us out pretty easily.”